


Lost Boys Like Me (Are Free)

by natascha_ronin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natascha_ronin/pseuds/natascha_ronin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU Week: Beloved Tropes/(sorta) Complete AU - Lieutenant Duckling</p>
<p>Fluff. </p>
<p>Emma is the front woman of rising band Killing David. Killian, a police officer with Boston PD, is in love with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Emma:** Finally back in town. You on the beat?

**Killian:** Nope. Just got off. I’ll see you at the show later.

**Emma:** Good. I’m in BFF deprivation over here.

**Emma:** Quincy Market, Ned Devine’s. 9pm. Don’t be late!

Killian laughed as he checked his phone. Emma had only been gone a few days, just a quick trip down to New York City to do a show and a podcast, but he was glad to have her back on their side of the river. Her band, Killing David, was gaining popularity and venturing further away from Boston. 

He still remembered the first time he saw her play.

When the band had been announced, he thought they’d be another Breaking Benjamin knockoff, but no. Emma Swan sauntered on the stage, grabbed the mic and sang in a range that would have Mariah Carey weeping in awe. Her hair had been dark brown then, falling in a long braid down her back. The drummer, Jefferson, wore guyliner and top hats. The bassist, David, doubled on acoustic for softer numbers. Ruby, on keys, was a decent backup vocalist. And Emma…

She was everything he ever dreamed of. 

She commanded the stage with come-hither stares and bravado, tight denim pants, and unashamed sexual prowess. She was untouchable on stage, when all you wanted to do was touch. Her dark eyes dared, her red lips assaulted the mic while her impossible voice made love to every word she sang. She was intimidating and seductive all at once, a contradiction designed to make you feel wanted and wrecked at the same time. 

The first few times he’d talked to her at merchandise tables or meet-and-greets after shows, he’d been intimidated, but she’d been the opposite of her stage persona. Her eyes shone with life when she talked to fans about a song they felt a connection to. One night after a show, he bought her a drink and they hit it off. They talked about music inspiration, her favorite bands (Pearl Jam, The Kills), his favorite bands (U2, The Pogues), and they both agreed Jack White was the greatest artist to grace avant-garde music since Jeff Buckley. 

They compared literature (he confessed a deep love for Peter Pan and fancied himself a bit of a lost boy) and she showed him the tattoo on her hip of Tinkerbelle she’d gotten on a dare. Her favorite book was The Count of Monte Cristo; she read it every autumn. He learned that she loved all genres of music, had an extensive collection of vinyl that covered an entire wall of her flat. 

They both had a profound love for Boston and called it home despite not being natives. They gushed over Mike’s cannolis, and Hook versus Yankee for rolls and chowder. She had given him her number, and they texted back and forth, mostly when she was bored and lamenting the lack of food choices late at night after shows. She was a bit of a gourmet, cooking for friends when she was home. When he’d joked about not being much of a cook himself, she let him know he was invited to her next dinner party.

Over the few years he’d known her, she’d become his closest and dearest friend, and her bandmates by extension. When he graduated from the police academy, she snuck a sign in and the group yelled when his name was called. When she broke it off with her boyfriend of three years, Killian let her sleep at his place until Neal had moved out of her apartment. He was her date to David’s wedding. When the local music scene gossiped about her dying her hair from brown to blonde, they ranted together over gourmet take-out while binge-watching No Reservations. When she and the band experienced success and left for a New England tour, he tried not to let the tug in his heart keep him from being happy for his friend. 

The band had a good mix of original music and covers, their third CD just released a month before. Emma had been out at local radio stations and podcasts, promoting the band and the new release. He held her hand as she squealed over CD sales and downloads. Whenever she talked business, there was enthusiasm about music, and she was always adamant that she was doing what she loved with the people she loved. When she talked about the people in her life, her eyes would slide to his and she would say that she was blessed to have such wonderful friends to love her.

The feeling was mutual.

She was funny and charismatic, sexy and talented. He loved being a part of her day when she facetimed him, writing songs with Ruby and David and Jeff on tour, biting her lip in concentration while she fussed over the words to a song or a compilation. He felt envious of the easy camaraderie she had with her fans and her bandmates. He’d always been a loner before she came along.

He was halfway in love with her, the way he came home after working a night shift and there were meals in his refrigerator. 

“I like taking care of you,” she said when he told her it was too much. “You take care of me.”

He asked her, “How?”

“You ground me.” She shrugged. “You keep me from feeling alone in the world.”

“Alone?” He shook his head. “You’ve got your bandmates, your fans…”

“You.” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Aye, me.” He ducked his head. “And I you.”

 

He arrived at the bar just as their opening act, Hood, wrapped up the set. He’d gotten to know a few of the bands that toured, and Robin Locksley was the lead of this one. They were a good group, a little too punk. The guitarist, Victor, was a bit of a showman. With his shock-blonde hair and jaunty moves on stage, he was a humorous act to Robin’s J.Crew looks. Killian ordered a beer and settled in at the bar for a good view of the stage. 

Hood was hacking through a cover of O Level’s “East Sheen” when he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“Hey!” Emma called over the din as he turned around. 

She wore heavy makeup, necessary for the stage, and her hair was swept to the side and teased up. She was clad from head to toe in leather and lace, looking like a modern version of Lita Ford or Blondie. His mouth was suddenly dry as he hugged her in greeting. 

“What are you drinking?” She swung her hair around as she reached over him to take a sip of his beer. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume mixed with leather, a mask of sex and femininity. She winked at him as she drank. 

“Suddenly have a taste for Guinness?” He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on his face. He loved any interaction he could get with her. 

“Big fan of anything Irish.” She bit her lip and smiled. “I’ve got something for you.” She put her hand on his lapel and looked up at him through her lashes. 

“Really?” He was intrigued. He already owned their latest release. “What’s that?”

Emma cocked her head to the side, exposing the long black beads of her earrings running down her neck. He wanted to run them through his hands. “You’ll see. Last song of the set.” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. 

He must have looked as stunned as he felt, but he didn’t get the chance to ask questions, because the next minute she was backing away and waving as she walked backstage. 

The crowd practically doubled when she walked on stage. They opened up the set with Emma and Ruby singing one of their own numbers, a fast-paced song with heavy guitar riffs and punchy drumbeats, then a red-hot version of Icky Thump, followed by their new release. Their new stuff was always tossed between familiar favorites. 

He enjoyed the interaction between the band, always with good stage presence. Jefferson broke a drumstick and tossed it at Ruby. David pulled his wife up onstage to dance with him a bit during the fun numbers. They really were an entertaining group to watch, and they were even more fun to hang out with. 

He was going to be sad when they got a big break and weren’t playing local bars and small festivals anymore. Even more so when tours and media pulled Emma away. It was selfish of him to want the playful banter and her ever-present innuendo, he knew. The band was good – Emma was good enough to go on tour and leave Boston (and Killian) behind. 

Emma ducked backstage after the last number was announced, reappearing with a bottle of water and her leather jacket off. She’d untucked and unbuttoned her black lace shirt, and it was draped over her bustier. She dragged Ruby’s stool out in front of the mic and strapped on the acoustic guitar. 

“This last song isn’t something we’d usually do, but it’s something I’ve had on my heart for awhile since I heard it on the radio.” She licked her lips and adjusted the mic as she sat down, then pulled a pick out of her cleavage. “Tour gets a little hectic sometimes, but there are people who, without them you’d be lost at sea.” She looked over in his direction. “People you’d be lonely without them to ground you. Killian, this is for you.”

She looked down and began playing the opening notes. He’d not heard the song before. He could only assume its origins. But Emma made the lyrics her own. 

“ _There was a time when I was alone_  
_Nowhere to go and no place to call home_  
_My only friend was the man in the moon_  
_And even sometimes he would go away, too_

_He came to me with the sweetest smile_  
_Told me he wanted to talk for awhile_  
_He said, “Peter Pan. That’s what they call me._  
_I promise that you’ll never be lonely.”_

_And ever since that day…_

“ _I am a lost boy from Neverland…_ ” She sang out to the dark room, stage lights blinding and cloaking her like a warm blanket. Her fingers strummed over chords, lifting and falling with every melancholy echo into the microphone that kissed her bitten lips.

“ _Even Captain Hook, you are my perfect story book…_ ” Her voice felt like every sea washing over him at once, lilting and breaking, breaking, breaking his beating heart. He wanted to hold her and never let go. He’d be her peter Pan, her Captain Hook, if he could just get past the wall of lights separating her from him. 

_“Neverland is home to lost boys like me_  
_And lost boys like me are free.”_

He stood up as the song pulled to a close and walked towards the stage. Her eyes followed him before looking back out at the crowd. She smiled sheepishly, saying goodnight as the fans erupted in applause, screaming and shouting out. 

Everyone walked out and waved, shouting and interacting with the crowd, but Emma walked over to the edge of the stage and carefully set the guitar down on a stand. She caressed the neck before looking back up and her eyes met his. She was hesitant, biting her lip. 

“C’mere,” he mouthed, and beckoned her with his hand. She crossed over and squatted down, hovering over him. He took her hands in his and helped her down off of the tall stage, wrapping her arms around his neck so he could lift her. 

“So…” Emma looked up at him, walls down and fully open to him.

“So, how ‘bout,” he put his forehead against hers and brushed his nose over hers, “I don’t want to be friends anymore.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Not what I was expecting.”

“I want more.” He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. There. He’d said it.

“I can live with that.” She beamed, and pulled him in. The crowd around them jostled and buzzed with activity, but for that moment, it was just them: lost boy and lost girl, together at last.

He kissed her, not caring whether the crowd or their friends saw them. Once he’d thought her impossible and ethereal, unattainable. Now, he realized that all he needed to do was fly with her.


	2. Just Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little something before the date of the concert. Killian comes home to a singing Emma in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the link to the song Emma is singing in the fic. I've always liked this version and I sing it all the time. I'm not a big fan of her other work, but this cover is sweet and much more sexy than the original:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Rmil_raUtU
> 
> Also, listen to The Ship Song. I just LOVE Nick Cave. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKlaV-9Vzsk

Killian walked up the creaky flight of stairs to his apartment, the top floor of a two-unit house in Revere. He smelled the garlic before he got halfway up, and heard the dissonant chords of Nick Cave’s ‘Ship Song’ as he unlocked the door. He smiled as he walked into his small studio.

Emma stood in profile at the stove, eyes closed, hair up off of the back of her neck. She balanced on one foot, wearing his old police academy sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. Her voice pitched as she sung along, harmonizing with the music. 

_“Come sail your ships around me,_   
_and burn your bridges down._   
_We make a little history, baby_   
_every time you come around.”_

She hummed the rest, snapping the fingers of the hand not holding the wooden spoon she sang into, biting her lips as lyrics spilled out intermittently while she swayed her upper body. 

He couldn’t help but smile, pulling off his jacket and hanging it next to hers on the coat tree. His uniform was damp from the rain earlier, and his gun holster chafed as he bent over to unlace his boots and pull them off. He was walking foot beat patrols downtown all week, so his feet ached. At least it wasn’t the afternoon shift. 

The song ended and MIA’s “Freedun” crashed over the speakers. Emma turned around and walked over to the table to grab her phone and switch songs, when she saw him and lifted the spoon. 

“Hey, Officer Jones.” She smiled. 

“What’s cooking?” He took her phone from her and scrolled down her playlist, selecting Sunday Girl’s cover of ‘Where is My Mind?’ and setting it back in his docking station. 

She held the spoon out to him. “Making sauce.” 

He hummed in appreciation as he licked the spoon and walked over to the stove, scooping out another helping and blowing on the hot marinara sauce. “Is that all?”   
She laughed behind him. “There’s veal parm and chicken french in the oven. I didn’t know which one you’d want. I’ll put noodles on in a sec.” The water was already boiling on the back burner. 

“I’ll just absent myself for a moment and shower.” He hooked his thumb in the direction of his only bedroom. He noticed her guitar case leaning against the edge of the couch. It would be lovely if she played for him later, he thought. 

He went through the motions of showering and dressing for an evening in. He lived for days when he and Emma could just hang out together without the rest of the world crashing in. With his career as a police officer a never-ending fluctuation of shift changes and overtime, combined with her odd hours in the studio or playing tours, they didn’t get to see each other nearly as often as he’d like. 

 

They ate together at the small table behind the couch, taking turns switching through channels on the television and trading small talk about work. 

Killian leaned over to kiss her forehead after dinner, grabbing her plate before she could get up. 

“Hey!” Emma reached up as he pulled the dishes out of the way. 

He shook his head. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.” 

She put her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine.” Emma smiled. “Besides, I’ve got something I’m working on I want to run by you.”

Killian couldn’t help but smirk as he ran water into the small sink. “Dinner and a show?” He winked at her. “However shall I repay you?”

She tapped her lips and winked back. “Perhaps gratitude is in order, Jones?” 

He nearly dropped the plate he was scrubbing. Still, he snorted and shot back, “Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh, yeah?” She bit her lip slowly. “Maybe I could.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

He looked down to focus on what he was doing, his face red. Their bantering was harmless enough, but _this…_

It had turned into this lately, and he often found himself wondering if Emma meant more by what appeared to be harmless flirtation. He didn’t mean to read too much into it, but with the way she looked at him sometimes and the way their flirting made his heart race… 

Well, he wondered if it could be more. 

He couldn’t deny that Emma Swan was an attractive woman, beautiful in fact, but he didn’t want to lose the best friend he’d come to know and love. Things were great between them. She took care of him, and he took care of her. Love was funny like that – just when he thought he was satisfied with what he had with Emma, love asked for just a little bit more. 

Face no longer flush, Killian looked up to where Emma sat on the chair in the corner of the room next to the television. She was tuning her guitar, biting her lip in concentration. This was the real treat, he thought. Emma was a wonderful musician, and he couldn’t help but watch in awe as her face transformed. She was strumming the first few chords, clearing her throat. The tune sounded quite familiar, and after a few bars, he recognized it on the spot. She hit the pickguard with the flat of her palm on the beat.

Then, she began to sing, a soft, high octave, higher than the original and soft…so very soft and sweet like a lover’s caress. 

_Show me how you do that trick,_   
_The one that makes me scream, he said…_   
_The one that makes me laugh, he said,_   
_and threw his arms around my neck._   
_Show me how you do it_   
_And I promise you, I promise that_   
_I’ll run away with you…_   
_I’ll run away with you…_

She looked down at her guitar, concentrating on the refrain, and a slow smile crept across her face as nimble fingers ran over the strings. 

_Spinning on that dizzy edge_   
_I kissed his face and I kissed his head_   
_And dreamed of all the different ways_   
_I had to make him glow._

Suddenly, Emma looked up at him and caught his gaze, her green eyes vibrant as she wavered a second on the next line:

_Why are you so far away, he said_   
_Why don’t you even see that_   
_I’m in love with you…_

She cleared her throat and looked back down at her hands—

_that I’m in love with you._

His ears were burning as she finished the chord, and the rest of the song flowed from her lips. He didn’t even realize that he’d made his way over to the back of the couch, drawn to her as he was. He had to remember that this was all a part of her act, this intimacy and and seduction. She was only testing him out as a member of the audience. It was the only way he could make his heart stop racing, thinking the words on her lips and the look in her eyes were for him alone.

Emma finished out final verse, making the silly pop song sound like a longing ballad from sorrowed lovers. 

_Oh, you…_   
_soft and only._   
_You…lost and lonely._   
_You…just like heaven._

She strummed the final chord and tapped her guitar, looking up at him with a hopeful smile. It was lovely – she was lovely, and he didn’t know how he could ever hold onto what they had or let it go when she inevitably grew too famous for this city…for him. 

So, he did what he always did. He tried to love her without holding her back.

“That was –“ Killian smiled. “That was amazing. You’re amazing, Emma.”

Something flickered in her eyes, and her smile faltered a bit before she licked her lips and giggled. “Only the best covers for my biggest fan.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He smirked. 

Something shifted between them, the moment gone, and he immediately regretted being so glib. Emma smiled brightly – too bright. She looked around the room. 

“How about a beer, then?” She hopped down off of the chair, setting her guitar on the couch, and practically ran over to the refrigerator. 

Killian mentally kicked himself. Things shouldn’t be so complicated between them. He was making it awkward with his feelings. “So, what’s up with the podcast? Any news yet on when you’ll be heading down to New York?”

Emma laughed, twisting the cap off of a beer and handing it to him. “Yeah, we’re actually heading down there on Friday.”

“ _This Friday?_ ” His eyebrows shot up in surprise. This was sudden. 

“Yeah, two days from now.” She took a pull on her beer and nodded, looking around the room. “Things are finally looking big for the band.”

He walked over to the couch and plopped down next to her guitar, hanging his head over while she moved it to sit down next to him. “What will I do without you, Swan?”

Emma jerked her head in the direction of his kitchen. “Eat leftovers, I guess.”

“Is that why you were here cooking?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t have my best friend starving or getting food poisoning from eating Granny’s takeout.”

Killian smiled. “Guess not.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ve got that gig at the tourist place next week. I’ll get you a pass.”

He peeled at his beer label, suddenly self-conscious at how much he needed her, and resisted the urge to scratch at his ear. She knew that habit. “I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

“You goof,” Emma leaned over and swatted at his arm. Her expression turned soft. “I’ll FaceTime you when we get to the hotel, ‘kay?”

He couldn’t resist biting his lip and snorting with laughter. She knew him far too well. “Okay, but only because I want to make certain you’re safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is always writing Killian as a musician and a good cook. I figured Emma could give it a try (although it annoys me that people stereotype her as someone who can't cook). Also, I love music. I'm a bit of a music snob, but I was listening to pop radio a few weeks ago and heard this song. It's adorable, and perfect for my OTP.


End file.
